


Comfort Food for Beginners, Part 4: Dean Does Disney (Dean/Castiel)

by squeemonster



Series: Comfort Food [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-23
Updated: 2011-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-18 11:29:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squeemonster/pseuds/squeemonster





	Comfort Food for Beginners, Part 4: Dean Does Disney (Dean/Castiel)

**Title** :  Comfort Food for Beginners, Part 4:  Dean Does Disney  
 **Rating** :  R  
 **Pairing** :  Dean/Castiel  
 **Word Coun** t:  7939  
 **Notes** :  Part 4 of my Comfort Food series.  This series is not in chronological order, it's just different scenes from the lives of those in Team Free Will, focusing on the relationship between Dean and Cas. Set after the events of season six, Castiel is now fully human and hunting with the Winchesters. Many thanks to [](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/)**zatnikatel**  who whipped my writing into readable shape.  
 **Summary** :  Sam helps Dean tap his inner Disney movie, as well as Cas's ass.

 

 

The problem with being in a serious relationship is that Dean Winchester has no idea how to be in a serious relationship.

He is completely and utterly out of his depth. It’s been a week since he finally put his big boy panties on and took this thing with Cas to the next level. A more physical and terrifying level. Except, it still hasn’t progressed much on that physical part, beyond making out and dry humping like horny preteens in their parents’ basement. He wants so much to go further with Cas, to feel naked skin sliding against skin, to peel Cas’s clothes off and lick, and taste, and suck, and _know_ him, but... once that’s done, once he’s gone that far, there’s no going back. And he doesn’t understand yet what that means.

It’s not that he’s having a sexual identity crisis… except that he kinda is. He’s not homophobic, he’s never cared what floats anybody’s boat or who sticks what where, just as long as everybody’s happy and no one’s getting hurt. But just because he doesn’t give a shit about other people’s preferences doesn’t mean he’s not going to flip his shit when he realizes that suddenly his preferences are focused on dick.

Or, more to the point, Cas’s dick.

Sure, he’s thought about what it would be like to fuck another guy. Every guy is lying if they say they’ve _never_ thought about it. But he never took the thoughts seriously, and he never really found the idea pleasant or desirable. He likes chicks. He loves their softness, their curves, the way they taste and smell and feel. Ever since he was old enough to jerk off, he’s only fantasized about women, always only ever wanted to be with women.

Until now.

Now, all he can think about is Cas. He finds himself distracted all the time because he can’t stop remembering the feel of Cas’s lips against his neck, the feel of his friend’s tongue and teeth as he sucks and nibbles on Dean’s earlobe, his breath dancing along Dean’s skin and cooling the wetness where Cas has just licked him. He can’t stop remembering the feel of those nimble fingers as they ghost across the front of his jeans, teasing Dean’s cock as it strains against the cloth. Can’t stop remembering all the little noises Cas makes as Dean ruts up against him, the angular hardness of Cas’s body when he wraps his arms around him and holds on tight, because he can’t quite believe his luck and never wants Cas slipping away.

It’s all very confusing for him, especially since he still looks when a pretty girl walks by, still feels the urge to flirt, even if he doesn’t have the desire to take it further than that. A part of him panics when he realizes he has no urge to fuck any of the women he sees anymore. And that same part of him is why he makes a point to flirt with them, just to prove to himself and everyone else that he still can.

He doesn’t see anything wrong with the flirting, even when he does it right in front of Cas. The way he sees it, it’s not like he’s choosing them over Cas. He’s still leaving the bars right by Cas’s side every night. Besides, it’s not like what they have on offer can compare to Cas. It’s like comparing apples to oranges. Or maybe apples to bananas is a better comparison. _Heh_.

So, when Sam’s bitchface makes an appearance one morning after a particularly long night of flirting with a curvaceous waitress, Dean is taken aback. They’re having breakfast at a diner across the street from their motel. Cas stayed back at the room, choosing some kind of meditation hoopla over fried eggs and waffles. Sometimes Dean wonders how they ever hooked up in the first place.

“Dean, we need to talk.” Sam’s face looks like he’s sucked on an entire lemon tree, all scrunched up and sour.

Dean glances up from his plate, sees the look on Sam’s face, and rolls his eyes. “Oh Jesus, can we hold off on the deep thoughts until lunch, at least? You know my stomach can’t handle touchy-feely shit this early in the morning.”

Sam sighs and drops his fork on his plate. “No, now’s about the only time we can talk about this.” He stops, twists the dial on his puppy-dog eyes right up to cocker spaniel locked outside in the rain. “It’s about Cas.” Dean’s brow furrows at that. “Or, more specifically, _you_ and Cas.”

Dean doesn’t like the tone in Sam’s voice. He’s been saying all along that he’s fine with the new development in Dean and Cas’s relationship, even went so far as to say, “about frikkin’ time,” when they’d explained why they wanted their own room that first night.

His jaw tenses as he spits out, “Dude, if you’ve got a problem with us being together, you should have fucking said something a week ago.”

Sam’s eyebrows tent comically. “What? Dean, _no_! That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m fine with what’s going on with you and Cas. More than fine. I think it’s great.” He smiles as he looks across the table at his brother. “You seem happier than I’ve seen you in a long time. Maybe happier than I’ve _ever_ seen you. This is a good thing, Dean.”

Dean expels the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Okay. So, what’s the problem, then?” he asks warily.

Sam shifts in his seat uneasily. He looks down at the table and begins to fiddle with his napkin. “It’s just... I don’t want to see you ruin it. You’re my brother, but Cas is my friend. And I don’t want to see him hurt any more than I want to see you hurt.” He looks up from the napkin, his eyes focusing meaningfully on Dean.

It’s meaning that skates right over Dean’s head. “Um, dude, you’re gonna have to vague that down for me. What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not gonna hurt Cas.” He leans back in the booth and looks at Sam with confusion.

Sam fidgets even more in his seat. “Dean... every time we’re at a bar or a restaurant, or really _any_ time you see a cute girl, you flirt with her. _Right in front of Cas_. It’s wrong, man.” Sam sets his jaw, his chin jutting out in defiance.

Dean sets his own jaw defensively. “Wait, what? I do not!”

“Yes, you do, Dean! What about last night?” Sam sits up straighter in his seat, obviously feeling more confident in his accusations. “That waitress was all over you, practically sitting in your lap, and Cas was sitting at the table across from you with a full view of it all. Are you really so dense to not realize how wrong that was?”

Dean’s speechless. He barely even remembers that waitress from last night, other than her fantastic rack. “What? She wasn’t all over me! Besides, what’s wrong with a little flirting? It’s not like I’m going off and doing anything with them.” He coughs. “I mean, her.”

Sam’s mouth hangs open. “Are you really trying to tell me you don’t see what’s wrong with this?” And yep, there comes bitchface #37, the _I’m-so-disappointed-in-you_ face.

Dean rolls his eyes, cocking his head and squinting at Sam. “I don’t see Cas complaining about it. If anyone has a right to bitch about it, it’d be him.”

Sam snorts. “I think he’s just as clueless how this whole relationship thing is supposed to go as you are.” Sam leans forward, crossing his arms in front of him on the table. “You don’t notice how quiet he gets afterwards? How he closes himself off from everything?”

Dean exhales, rubbing his hand across his face. “Not until now, I guess.” He stares at his plate for a few seconds, all remnants of an appetite now gone, thanks to Sam. “You really think it bothers him?”

“I don’t see how it couldn’t.” Sam is watching him closely, a look of concern and pity on his face. “Dean, what’s going on with you? You’re definitely not the most sensitive person around, but this has been callous, even for you.”

Groaning, Dean glances at Sam, then quickly looks back down at his plate. “Dude, really? Do we really have to lay this all out right now? My waffles haven’t even started digesting, man.”

He looks up when his plea is met with silence. Sam is just sitting there, staring and being a giant girl. “Okay, _fine_.” Dean chews on his bottom lip, trying to decide where to start, how to say what he’s been feeling lately. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to do this.”

Sam waits until it’s obvious that Dean isn’t planning on elaborating any time soon. “Do what, Dean?” He continues to stare back, his gaze so intense it makes Dean feel like lasers are splitting his brain open like a cantaloupe, which, _gross_.

Dean groans again and covers his face with his hands. “ _Everything_! Being in a relationship, being with a dude, how to deal with the fact that I’m freaked about all of a sudden wanting sex with a guy... all of it!” He looks up to find a smirk on Sam’s face, and his brother’s eyebrows raised so high they’re halfway up his gigantic forehead, and he thinks he might achieve a decent approximation of Cas’s smiting voice when he growls, “Dude, if you laugh at me, I swear to God I will jump over this table and bitchslap you silly.”

Sam makes a half-assed attempt to wipe the smile off his face. “Heh, no Dean, I’m not laughing at you, I promise,” he reassures unconvincingly. “But, I don’t get it. You were in a relationship with Lisa for, like, a _year_. You lived with her and helped raise her kid. How does that not count as a serious relationship?”

Dean can feel Sam’s eyes on him as he shifts in his seat, uncomfortable with the conversation and anxious to end it. “It was different with Lisa.”

Sam nods his head in encouragement. “How so?”

Dean fumbles to put thoughts he hasn’t really voiced into words. “That wasn’t really me. That whole time I was there, I was just playing a part. It wasn’t _me_.” He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “I was just being who I thought I was supposed to be, the kind of person I always fantasized about being when I thought of getting out of this life. I was just playing a part, just like how we pretend to be FBI or cops or whatever.”

Opening his eyes, he sees Sam’s sympathetic gaze, which instead of making him mad, makes him feel better, for once. “I just... as long as I was playing a part, I was fine. I knew how I was supposed to act. It’s not that I didn’t love Lisa. I did. I just couldn’t be myself with her. It’s not what she needed. Ben either.” He turns his head to look out the window, watches as the morning rush traffic begins to get steadier on the streets outside the diner.

Sam clears his throat. “So, that’s why you’re freaked about this relationship with Cas? You’ve never been in one as yourself and don’t know how you’re supposed to act?”

Dean can feel his cheeks heat self-consciously. “Yeah, that’s it, partly. I mean, how do we do this? We’re in each other’s hair almost all day, every day. It’s not like we go off to separate jobs and then just meet up at home at night. He’s _always_ there. And I don’t mind that now, I actually kinda dig it, but what if one day I don’t? What if _he_ gets tired of it? What if he gets tired of me, Sam?”

He knows it sounds whiny as fuck, but Sam, to his credit, doesn’t point that out. “I can’t see Cas _ever_ getting tired of you, Dean,” his brother says instead. “I think he likes you enough that even when you’re a jerk he can’t stop wanting to be around you.” He smiles reassuringly at Dean. “But even if he does get tired of you, he won’t be able to stay away for long. You’re like mange. Once you’re under somebody’s skin, they’ll never be able to get rid of you.”

Dean snorts. “Oh gee, thanks. That’s a shining endorsement.”

“So, what about the ‘him-being-a-dude’ part is getting you riled up? Don’t tell me your iron-clad masculinity is feeling threatened?” Sam grins.

“Oh, you’re loving this, aren’t you? Betcha couldn’t wait until you got the chance to throw something like that in my face.” Dean practices his own bitchface at Sam.

“Bet that’s not the only thing getting thrown in your face lately.” Sam ducks as Dean throws sugar packets at him.

“Shut the fuck up. My virtue is still intact. For now.” Dean grumbles the last of this statement out, because he isn’t really sure how he feels about it, and suspects he might not feel great.

Sam eyes him for along moment and then he clears his throat, opening and closing his mouth several times as if he can’t find the right words. “Why is that?” he asks, a little high-pitched. “I mean, I don’t want to know details _pleasedon’ttellmeanygrossdetailsplease_. But, it’s not like you to hold off on… you know. Closing the deal.”

Dean props his elbows onto the table and lowers his head, hiding his face in his hands again. “Oh God, it’s so embarrassing talking about this with you.” He sighs, flustered and frustrated. “It’s not that I don’t want to... _do the deed_ with Cas. It’s just, once I do... I feel like there’s no going back from that. It’s not just some random hookup with a chick. This is a dude. It changes who I am. And it’s not just a dude. It’s _Cas_. And—”

“Once you go Cas, you never go back?”

At that, Dean raises his head and grimaces. “Very funny, wise ass. But, kinda, yeah.” His voice goes soft then, without him really intending it. “I think Cas is it for me,” he says simply. “And it scares the shit out of me.” He side-eyes his brother, looking for some sort of reaction on his face. Thankfully, all he sees is a small bit of amusement and a lot of fondness. Sam is _such_ a sap, he thinks abstractly.

“I get that,” Sam tells him earnestly. “It’s gonna be scary and weird for a while, at least at first.” He leans to his right to get Dean’s attention, making eye contact and holding his gaze. “But, it’s worth it, right? Cas is worth all the awkwardness and fumbles. You owe it to each other to work at it until you get past the weirdness.”

Dean stares at Sam for several seconds. “Yeah, you’re right. It is worth it.” He exhales loudly, reaching for his coffee cup and drinking up the last tepid dregs. “So, I should stop with the flirting, then?”

Sam nods decisively. “Yeah, I think that’d be a good start. And maybe you should do something to let him know you’re sorry about it. Or to let him know you’re putting all that behind you or something.”

Dean squints at him like he’s just turned purple and started eating people. “What, like send him flowers?”

Laughing, Sam says, “No! That’s not what I meant.”

Dean throws up his hands. “Okay, Dear Abby, what the fuck should I do, then? In case you hadn’t noticed, I have no clue how to do a relationship, let alone how to do it with a guy. Should I buy him shotgun shells? Sexy underwear? Aftershave? I’m flying blind here.”

Sam wraps his arms across his stomach and bites his lips, and Dean can tell he’s doing his best not to bray out laughter because history has shown him that if he doesn’t curb his amusement at his brother’s predicament, it’ll come back and bite him in the ass later. “Okay,” he manages. “Okay…” His eyes brighten. “What about a date?”

Dean gapes at his brother. “A _date_? That’s all you can come up with, Sammy? Wow, no wonder you suck with the ladies.”

“Shut up and just hear me out,” Sam protests, and Dean rolls his eyes but refrains from saying more.

“You guys don’t ever get to go out and do anything just for fun, right?” Sam goes on. “It’s all about the hunts and getting to the next one and sleeping and eating. Plus, I’m always around, so you don’t get any chance just to be two normal guys trying to get in each other’s pants.” He barely dodges the spoon Dean flicks at his face.

“So, a date,” Dean picks up dubiously. “Like what… go bowling or something?”

Sam laughs, exasperated. “Man, you are so lucky you don’t have a normal life because you would suck at the whole dating game.”

“Bowling is bad?”

“It’s not good if you’re trying to set a romantic mood, no.”

Dean’s starting to lose all patience with this conversation, which is saying a lot since he had no patience for it to begin with. “Okay, Cyrano, where the fuck should I take him then?”

Sam shrugs like Dean should already know the answer. “Just go to a nice restaurant. No diner, no sleazy bar, just a nice, quiet restaurant to eat some good food, talk, and hang out with each other without a life and death situation or _me_ hanging over your heads. Relax, drink some wine—” he stops at the look on Dean’s face. “Or beer. Drink some beer and enjoy each other’s company.”

Dean studies the table for a moment, thinking. “What kind of restaurant?”

Sam makes a formless sound of affectionate frustration. “Jesus, I don’t know, Dean! Do I have to think of everything for you?” He snaps his fingers. “ What about Italian? You like Italian, he seems to like pizza.” He adds, “Don’t take him to a pizza parlor!” after the look of relief on Dean’s face.

“Okay, fine,” Dean grouses out. “A dark, romantic Italian restaurant where I can permanently relinquish all claims of being a macho tough guy.”

His brother smirks. “You should totally do that Lady and the Tramp thing, where you give him your meatball. It’d be symbolic of you giving him your balls.”

And that’s just _wrong_.“Oh, you are so getting Naired when you least expect it, Breck-girl.”

 

***************************************************************

Three days later, Dean asks Cas if he wants to go out to dinner to this dark little Italian restaurant he’d noticed as they drove into the town they’re currently in while on the prowl for a hunt. Cas looks confused, but acquiesces.

That evening, when Dean chooses to dress in the slacks he usually wears when he’s role-playing detective and a plain green button-down shirt instead of his usual jeans, flannel, and t-shirt, the look on Cas’s face is one of befuddlement. He remains silent, yet seems to take the hint that where they’re going requires nicer clothes than their usual fare, and changes into his own dress pants and blue button-down, recently purchased so that Cas could play along as detective whenever a hunt called for it.

Cas patiently sits at the table in their room, dressed and ready to go, reading a newspaper. Sam lounges on the bed, surfing the internet, and Dean can damn well see him smirking as he nervously fusses and primps over his hair in the bathroom.

“Dean, your hair is short,” Sam calls in. “There’s only so much you can do to it before you need to just surrender and admit it’s a lost cause.”

Fuck it, he’s honest-to-God nervous. “Shut up, Sasquatch,” he squawks. “Not everyone goes to bed with curlers in their hair every night.” He closes the bathroom door so he can take a leak and tuck his shirt into his pants. He washes his hands, sprays a shot of aftershave cologne on his neck, feels like a complete douche for doing so, takes a deep breath, and opens the door.

“Cas, you ready to go?” He walks over to the table and grabs his car keys.

Cas looks up from the article he was reading. “Yes, Dean. I’m as ready as I was twenty minutes ago.” Sam snorts in the background. Cas is a quick study in the art of sarcasm.

“Let’s hop to it then,” Dean barks. “I’m starving, and I don’t want them giving up our reservation just because we’re a little late.”

“We’d be a little late because your hair apparently wasn’t cooperating.” Cas’s lip curls up at the corner and his eyes are crinkled in amusement.

Sam snorts again. “You guys have fun and don’t stay out too late.”

Turning to look at Sam, his brows wrinkled with confusion, Cas says, “Aren’t you coming with us?”

It’s Sam’s turn to look confused. “Uh, no. It’s not usually normal for the brother to tag along on a date.”

Both men turn to look at Dean, who’s awkwardly just standing there, glancing back and forth between them, his face turning beet-red.

Simultaneously, Cas and Sam say, “Dean, is this a date?” and “Dean, you didn’t tell him this was a date?!”

Exasperated and embarrassed, Dean rolls his eyes and huffs, “I assumed you knew what I meant when I said ‘Hey, Cas, you wanna go out to dinner with me tonight?’”

Frowning, Cas stands up and pushes his chair against the table. “I did find it odd that you asked, since we eat dinner together every night anyway. I thought you were just being considerate and wanted to confirm that I’d like to eat Italian food.”

Dean glances at Sam, who remains quiet, his eyes darting back and forth between the two men. “Yeah well, it was Sam’s idea, so if you don’t like it blame him.” He’s aware that he sounds surly, but it’s his defense mechanism and he can’t help it.

Cas sighs. “Of course I like the idea, Dean. I’d enjoy spending time with you anywhere.”

Dean flushes as he hears Sam attempt to refrain from cackling. “Fine then,” he responds sharply. “Let’s get out of here before Sam’s head explodes from trying to hold in his giggling.” He strides to the door, unconsciously making the mistake of holding it open for Cas. It’s the tipping point for Sam, who bursts out laughing.

“Hey, I hear if you buy them dessert they let you get to third base.”

“Shut the fuck up and go download some Disney movies so you can jerk off, nerdboy.”

 

***************************************************************

The drive to the restaurant is quiet, with yellowed streetlamps casting murky shadows across the car’s interior and hopefully muting the nervousness and awkwardness that Dean feels. He can feel Cas’s eyes on him every few minutes, but he doesn’t return the look. He knows if he does he’ll open his mouth and say something stupid, a joke or something else to fill up the silence, try to explain away the whole point of this date to reduce it to something meaningless. This is one of the most earnest, sincere, _here’s-my-heart-please-don’t-hurt-it_ moments he’s ever willingly experienced, at least with someone who wasn’t blood, and this realization terrifies him. But the thought of _not_ doing this, _not_ letting Cas know he’s serious, and the thought of possibly losing him because of it, terrifies him even more.

Cas is worth all the awkwardness in the world as long as it means Dean gets to keep him by his side. But he’d still like to avoid as much awkwardness as he can, all the same.

Once they reach the restaurant he drives around the block a few times looking for a parking space, unsuccessfully. Given how late they are, he drops Cas off at the door of the restaurant so as not to lose their reservation.

As Cas is getting out of the car, Dean lets him know their reservation is under Winchester, which gets an odd look from Cas.

“I thought you never use your real name,” he says suspiciously.

Dean shifts in his seat. “Yeah, well, I didn’t feel like pretending to be anybody else tonight.”

Cas stares at him for a couple seconds longer, contemplating what he said, before he shuts the car door and heads into the restaurant.

It takes Dean another ten minutes before he finally finds a space in the parking lot of a bank two blocks over. He jumps out of the Impala, making sure everything’s locked up and safe before making the five minute trek to the restaurant.

Once inside the foyer of the restaurant, his eyes wander, on the lookout for Cas, but he’s nowhere to be found. The atmosphere inside is dark and cozy, the walls and floors paneled with dark wood. Heavy red curtains hang across the windows, and candles seem to be about the only light provided in the place. Dean would appreciate the ambiance and the ridiculously tantalizing smells wafting from the kitchen if he wasn’t so preoccupied with finding Cas.

“Excuse me sir, may I help you?” The luscious brunette hostess is eyeing him up and not shy about letting him know she likes what she sees. The old Dean would stop and chat her up a few or ten minutes, do what he could to make her blush and see if he could make that cleavage heave with a shaky breath. But this new Dean... he just couldn’t care less anymore.

“Yeah, I’m looking for my uh...” He gulps. “...My boyfriend. Reservation is under 'Winchester'?” This is the first time he’s called Cas his boyfriend to anyone, including himself. He hopes it gets a lot less terrifying in the future.

He watches as her face falls at the news that he’s taken, and by a guy, no less. It’s comforting to know he’s still got it, at least. “Yes, I believe he made his way into the bar,” she says, a tad less warmly. “Your table should be available shortly.”

She points him in the direction of the bar, off to his right and down the hall. As he turns the corner, he realizes this place is way bigger than it looks from the outside. He walks down the short hallway, which opens up onto the bar, several steps higher than the ground floor. What he sees as he steps into the room forces him to stop and stare. Cas is standing with his back to the door, and some guy is chatting him up. Not just talking to him, but leaning into him as he talks, almost whispering in his ear. He’s all up in Cas’s personal space, and Cas, being _Cas_ , isn’t doing anything to stop him, he’s just standing there, listening to him and staring at the glass in his hands.

Dean’s first instinct is to rip the man’s head off with his bare hands. His second instinct is to rush up and shove him away from Cas, get him out of that space that belongs to Dean and Dean alone. He’s never felt jealousy like this before—he’s never really had to, given that he usually doesn’t stick around long enough to have a significant other to get jealous over, and even if he did he’s never had reason to worry that a woman would stray from him. And rationally he knows he shouldn’t worry about Cas, either. Cas is the last person who would ever even consider infidelity, let alone actually do the deed. But rational and Dean don’t go together so well when he’s watching some slimeball about to put his grimy paws all over Cas.

How he ends up handling the situation is way more mature and way less satisfying than what his first instinct would have yielded. He strolls up behind Cas and spares a glance at the asshole. “Excuse me,” he says as he slides his way in between the two men, his hand coming up to rest at the small of Cas’s back. “Did you order me a drink, Cas?”

He looks back over his shoulder to make sure the dude got the hint. “Sorry man, didn’t know he was here with someone else.” The man holds up his hands in a conciliatory gesture and turns to leave.

Dean scowls at him and watches to make sure he stays gone. When he turns back around he finds Cas staring at him, eyes squinty. “I wasn’t aware I was supposed to order you a drink, Dean,” he says.

“Yeah, I know, Cas. I was just trying to get rid of that guy hitting on you,” Dean chuckles, as he looks at Cas.

“Is that what he was doing?” Cas muses. “I wondered why he thought I’d be interested in seeing his new hardwoods.”

Dean chokes on the swig of Cas’s beer he’d just swallowed. “Um, yeah, the floor wasn’t the hard wood he was wanting you to see.” He grins in admiration at the guy’s creativity. “I gotta remember that line, though.” And what do you know, Cas is looking at him and not blinking, and his gaze is lingering on Dean’s mouth and then moving up to his eyes, and a small, fond smile is playing on his lips. And so Dean stares back, his hand drawing small circles on Cas’s back, and he isn’t aware of just how close they are until the hostess is clearing her throat behind them, making him almost jump out of his skin.

“Your table is ready, sir,” she trills, and she smiles knowingly as she turns to lead the way.

Dean waves his hand in front of them. “After you,” he remarks to Cas. They follow her out of the bar and down the same hallway Dean had walked before. They continue past the lobby and are led through a front dining room and across to the other side of the building, where there’s a room smaller than the main dining room, with deep, leather booths along the walls and in the corners, each one behind brick partitions to afford a bit more privacy from the rest of the room.

There are no other patrons in the small alcove with them, and as Dean and Cas slide into their booth, Dean comments to the hostess about the solitude.

“Well, it being a Wednesday night business is lighter than usual,” she confides. “Plus, there’s a minor league baseball game going on one town over tonight, so that tends to make people scarce around here.” She pauses. “You two looked so cozy I figured you might appreciate having a little more privacy.” She hands them their menus and winks at Dean before walking away.

Dean smiles at her, then frowns as Cas quickly lowers his head to read the menu when Dean catches him watching their interaction. _Damn_ , he thinks. _How have I not noticed this before?_

He chews on his lip as he thinks of the best way to broach this touchy subject. “Hey, Cas?”

Cas doesn’t look up from reading his menu. “Yes, Dean?” After several seconds of silence, he raises his head to meet Dean’s eyes.

“Does it bug you when I flirt with chicks?” Dean figures the best way to get this out in the open and over with was to just throw it out there. He knows Cas prefers him to be straightforward anyways, so he’s doing them both a favor. Maybe once they talk it out they can actually enjoy the dinner without all this hanging over their heads.

Cas’s eyes widen at the question, and he looks to the door, seeming almost as if he wants to run away. _Shit-shit-shit_ , he thinks. Cas looking nervous and avoidy makes Dean feel like a complete douchewad, because he knows his actions are the reason for it.

Cas meets his eyes briefly before looking down at his menu again. “I... it shouldn’t bother me,” he says reluctantly. “I don’t want it to bother me.” Dean remains quiet as he watches Cas fidget with the frayed edge of his napkin. “You’ve spent your life being attracted to and enjoying women. It’s only natural for you to continue to want to do so. I can’t give you what they can, what you’re attracted to. It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask you to give all of that up for me.”

Dean waits, but Cas doesn’t add anything else. He remains silent until Cas raises his eyes to lock with his, and then he says, “You didn’t answer my question, Cas. Does it bug you when I flirt with girls?”

Cas breathes out an exasperated sigh and rolls his eyes. “Of course it _bugs_ me, Dean. I hate it. I hate not only you doing it, but I hate the way it makes me feel. I dislike the way this jealousy controls me and feels as if it’s twisting my gut and tainting everything else around me. It’s beneath me, and yet for the life of me I can’t rise above it.” He grits his teeth, his jawline tense. “But most of all, I hate knowing that no matter what I do, they offer you something I never can.”

_Can open, worms all over the fucking table_. Dean opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again when no words come to him. He purses his lips and rubs the back of his neck, glances up to see Cas watching his every move, looks down at the table, and leans back in his chair. He meets Cas’s gaze and holds it. “Cas, you’re a fucking idiot.”

Dean watches as his friend’s eyes narrow and he spits out, “Excuse me?”

_Okay, found another way to piss Cas off, that’s useful_. Dean opens his mouth to elaborate, but in a perfect example of epically bad timing, the waiter approaches to take their drinks order. “Good evening, sirs. What can I get the two of you to drink?”

They may be in a fancy restaurant, but that doesn’t mean Dean has to give up on ol’ reliable. “Uh, I’ll just have a beer.”

The waiter taps his pencil on his pad. “What kind of beer do you prefer?”

Dean shrugs. “Whatever’s on tap. I’m easy.” He hears Cas scoff at that, but refuses to look at him.

“And for you, sir?” The waiter seems to have an impressive ability for ignoring the tension at their booth. Must come with the job.

“I’ll have the same,” Cas sighs.

“Very good. I’ll return in a moment with your drinks, and to take your order.”

Dean stops him before he gets the chance to escape. “You know what, you might as well go ahead and take our order.” He risks a look at Cas. “Do you know what you want?”

Cas levels him with an icy stare. “I’m not feeling very hungry anymore, actually.”

Dean exhales, tempted to snap back at him, but he relents. “Okay then, how about we just get two plates of spaghetti with meat sauce, and maybe some meatballs with it. Sound good?” He gives Cas a hopeful look.

“Whatever you want, Dean.”

The waiter clears his throat and gathers their menus. “Excellent choice, sir. We’re known for our spaghetti and meatballs, so I do believe you will enjoy. I’ll get your beers out to you in just a few minutes.”

Dean watches as the waiter makes a hasty retreat, then turns his head to find Cas staring at the floor. “Cas, man... I didn’t really mean you’re an idiot. What I meant was...” He pauses to take a deep breath and figure out what he’s really wanting to say to Cas. There’s so much that he needs to to say but hasn’t. They just kind of fell into this thing with each other without talking about it, and Dean has no problem with that except for the fact that they’re both flailing in the dark here, neither one of them having any sort of clue how to be in a relationship.

“What I meant was, if I’m doing something that pisses you off, you need to tell me,” he says. “And something like this? Man, I don’t know what I’m doing here. I’m freaked out. And when I get freaked out about stuff like this, I fuck it up.” He holds Cas’s stare for a few seconds. “And believe me when I say, I don’t wanna fuck this up, Cas. You gotta help me keep from messing things up with you.”

Cas remains silent for several moments as Dean watches him contemplate what’s been said. The waiter brings their beers to the table, along with a basket of bread. Dean shoves the bread into his mouth and gulps half his beer before Cas speaks up.

“Dean, I wasn’t saying that you’re doing something wrong. I was saying I was wrong for letting it bother me. I don’t want you to feel you have to give up being with women just because of me.”

Dean makes a face at that. He knows Cas is new to this whole _being human_ thing, but this is dense, even for him. “Uh, Cas? That’s kinda what being in a relationship is. You give up being with other people so you can be with that one person exclusively.”

Cas snorts. “Yes, I’m aware of that. But most relationships don’t involve one of the people switching their gender of choice. You’ve been attracted to women your whole life. It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask you to give all that up just because you’ve suddenly found yourself attracted to me.”

Dean comes around for a second pass. “Cas, it’s not—”

“Excuse me, sirs. Would either of you be interested in purchasing a lovely rose this evening? They’re fresh-plucked from our garden, and I promise you will never smell a fragrance more intoxicating.” Dean looks up at the flower man and wonders how anyone could say those lines with a straight face. And yet, maybe a little more romance is what this awkward situation is needing to smooth things over a bit. _Ah, fuck it_.

He looks at Cas and raises his eyebrows. “Um… would you like a rose, Cas?” He knows how ridiculous he sounds as the words are coming out of his mouth, but he just can’t stop it from happening, much like watching a train wreck.

He’s rewarded with a look of utter confusion and exasperation that forms on Cas’s face. “Why would I want you to purchase a flower, Dean?” his friend asks him. “What would I do with it?”

Okay, now Cas not only think Dean is a womanizing asshole who wants to cheat on him every chance he gets, but by the look on his face he also thinks he’s the dumbest fuck who’s ever walked the Earth. Awesome night. He needs to remember to punch Sam in the ’nads next chance he gets. “Never mind,” he grudges out. “No thanks, we won’t be needing any flowers tonight.” He dismisses the man, and says a silent prayer that the restaurant staff doesn’t laugh too hard at their expense.

He takes another deep breath and jumps back into the fray. “Cas, it’s not your place to decide what’s fair for me or not. If this wasn’t something I was up for, I wouldn’t be here right now.” He clears his throat. “Did you ever think that maybe I see it a bit differently? How I see it is—I’ve been with women for years. And yeah, I’ve enjoyed the hell out of it. I wouldn’t change it for nothin’. But now... now I’ve got my best friend. And he’s _awesome_. Better than awesome.” He leers just a little then. “And he’s hot as all-fuck. And he makes me feel things I never thought I _could_ feel, and he makes me want things I never thought I’d ever want.”

Cas’s eyes widen and his lips part slightly as he’s listening to Dean.

“So, now,” Dean continues, and he gives it all he’s got. “Now, when I look at a pretty girl, yeah, I appreciate what I’m seeing. But I’m also thinking, been there, done that. Why would I want something that’s just a different flavor of what I’ve had a thousand times before when I could have you? And you know what else? You have every right to tell me when I’m doing something that pisses you off. Hell, you have every right to _get_ pissed off. Don’t second guess yourself. Being human means feeling a lot of shitty feelings, and jealousy is one of the worst.” He grimaces. “Fuck, when I saw that douchebag hitting on you at the bar, I wanted to kill something. So, I get it now. But the only way I’m gonna know I’m pissing you off is if you let me know. I hate talking feelings and all that shit, but we’re gonna have to bite the bullet every once in a while and let each other know what’s what. Okay?”

Cas stares at him for a few seconds before nodding slowly. “Yes, you’re right. I just haven’t wanted to overburden you or Sam with constant questions over everything I don’t understand about humanity and being human.” He sighs and plays with his fork. “But I agree, I do need to be more open, as do you. It’s something we can both work on together, I suppose.”

Dean smiles. “Soooo, Cas. Would you like me to stop the flirting?”

Cas returns the smile and huffs. “Maybe just not do it as much? Or not be quite so aggressive with it?” He leans forward. “Dean, flirting is a part of you, it comes so naturally to you. If I ask you to stop it completely that would be asking you to change a fundamental part of who you are. I fell in love with everything about you, shortcomings and all. And the same goes for this evening. You don’t have to woo me and be something you’re not to make me happy.” His eyes do that soft glowy trick that makes Dean go dry in his mouth. “I don’t need any of this. I would be just as happy, if not more, with an evening of pizza and beer, sitting on the hood of the Impala and watching the sunset. That would be the perfect evening for me because I’d know I was getting a piece of who you really are.”

The waiter arrives at the table with their food, and Dean says a silent prayer of thanks because he felt he was getting ridiculously close to grabbing Cas’s hand and looking like a complete idiot with a dopey grin on his face. He doesn’t know how he ended up so lucky as to get Cas in his life, but he’s grateful as hell to whoever or whatever is responsible. Also, he plans on giving Sam a big I-told-you-so smackdown later on, because all of this would have been so much easier if he’d gone with the pizza parlor.

They both dig into their food, the heartfelt talks making them both exhausted and starving. The waiter was telling the truth about how awesome the spaghetti and meatballs are. Dean twists his fork in the noodles, making sure to scoop up as much sauce as possible with each forkful. He stuffs his mouth, groaning with each delicious bite, and watches as Cas shovels down all of his meatballs before he even starts in on the pasta. Apparently he still hasn’t gotten over his love of beef.

Once he’s eaten the last of his meatballs, he dives into the pasta. He scoops more meat sauce onto his fork than noodles with most bites, but he still manages to whittle down the giant mound of spaghetti on his plate to a more respectable size fairly soon after starting. Dean catches him glancing at his own plate every once in a while, and he begins to wonder what the fascination is, considering they got the same meal. After the fourth or fifth time he catches him looking, he realizes that what he’s staring at is Dean’s leftover meatballs.

He smirks and says, “Cas, are you coveting my meatballs?”

Cas glances quickly up at Dean and narrows his eyes. “I think they gave you more than me.”

Dean snorts. “What are you, eight years old? They didn’t give me more, you just scarfed yours down before the plate even reached the table.”

He hears Cas grumble something under his breath about how that’s not even possible, and watches as Cas continues to eat his pasta. Rolling his eyes, he says, “Here. Just don’t ever tell Sam I did this, he’ll never let me live it down that we’ve become a Disney movie.” He scoots his plate next to Cas’s and rolls his remaining meatballs to his plate.

Cas looks at him as if he’s just recited all the answers to the universe and told him he’s buying him a unicorn farm made of rainbows. “Are you sure, Dean?”

“Yes, weirdo, just eat them before I change my mind,” Dean laughs.

Cas eats every last meatball with the seriousness and solemnity usually reserved for hundred dollar steaks and Communion wafers. Dean hides his smile behind his hand as he watches.

As if this evening couldn’t get any more awkward, while they’re eating dessert two guys stop by their table and begin a serenade. It’s pretty much the most embarrassed Dean has ever felt, given that everyone in the restaurant seems to turn and stare. He can feel his face turning red as he tries to give them the evil eye to let them know it’s not appreciated, but they don’t seem to take the hint. He props his elbow on the table and hides his face from the rest of the room by shielding it with his hand. When the song is almost over, he spares a glance at Cas and finds him staring across the table at him intently. “What?” he tries to say, but his voice is mostly drowned out by the singing.

“I was thinking—”

“What? Cas, I can’t hear you.”

“I was thinking—”

“What? Speak up!”

“I WAS THINKING WE SHOULD HAVE SEXUAL INTERCOURSE TONIGHT, DEAN.”

Of course, the serenaders stop with the serenading the exact moment that Cas starts yelling. The whole restaurant turns to stare at them. Cas, to his credit, looks more pissed than embarrassed that everyone heard him. The singer and guitar player try to hide their smirks as they say, “We hope you have a lovely evening,” and scurry away.

Dean stares at Cas, picturing what Cas will look like later that night, writhing and moaning in their twisted, sweat-soaked bedsheets. Without breaking eye contact, he raises his hand and motions to their waiter across the room. “Check, please. Now!”

_This night is about to get all kinds more awesome_.

 

 


End file.
